


Home

by emilyfuckingprentiss



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyfuckingprentiss/pseuds/emilyfuckingprentiss
Summary: After being abducted by an unsub, Special Agent Victoria Grey must learn to cope with the haunting memories of her abuse with each slow passing day. However, she is not alone; she has Special Agent Emily Prentiss. She has always had Special Agent Emily Prentiss.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very emotional story. As always, Victoria Grey is my own character, however the rest belong to the creators/writers of Criminal Minds.

The harsh, leather restraints of her wrists seemed heated, burning into fragile skin with each movement as she fought to loosen them, twisting her body with discomforting angles and pulling against the fastens with a mighty force. However, it appeared hopeless, pointless for the more she fought against the constraints, the tighter they became around her swelling wrists. Rivers of blood flowed from an unseen wound, somewhere above her left eye, she believed, soaking her freckled cheek and gliding between cold, chapped lips. The iron taste erupted a disastrous nausea within her abdomen, her chosen lunch of coffee with a side of coffee threatened to pour from her mouth, ruining her already drenched blouse. She swallowed the suffocating mixture of her own tears and the intruding red, pushing passed the excruciating pain of a narrowing throat.   
Around her a darkness withheld any visible light, ridding her of seeing where she had been placed. A basement, she thought, feeling the icy chill of concrete beneath her bare thighs. She cried harder streams, finding awareness of the throbbing pain between her clenching thighs and the stickiness sealing them together. Without further ability to swallow her disgust and fear, the volcano within her erupted, and she released the blending of caffeine and saltine tears and iron blood. The foul liquefied terror continued down her chin pathetically, creeping into the unfastened buttons of her blouse. And though she wanted to scream, she did not for the unsettling sound of footsteps and whispers echoed around her. “Agent Grey?” a voice called out into the broken silence.   
She wriggled with an overwhelming feeling of relief, the protruding glare of a flashlight suddenly visible. “Prentiss!” she cried out, her kicking legs making devastating contact with shattered glass, slicing the callous skin. The light was on her now, almost blinding her, but she neglected to care as she spoke the woman’s name again.   
Though she could not see the memorized face of her hero, she felt recognized hands on hers. The tears emerged faster from her oceanic eyes as the leather restraining her loosened, freeing her entirely. With eagerness ribboning fear, she reached out, clutching the collar of the older woman’s shirt, bringing her own chilled body against the woman’s collected warmth, and in the heated crook of the woman’s neck, she found herself sobbing, not chancing her disappearance if she were to release her from hold. However, a hand found the middle of her back, running up and down its length as the other holstered a weapon between their bodies before smoothing out her sticky mess that was hair. “It’s okay,” the older woman whispered. “You’re okay.”  
Another set of echoing footsteps approached them, though heavier this time causing her to scream against the woman as her body trembled in the calming hold. “Hey, hey, hey,” the stranger’s familiar voice started. “It’s me, Morgan.” A light flickered above them before entirely ridding the darkness with harsh brightness. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling the burning of their cores, and further rested her face against the older woman’s neck. She wondered what her prison looked like, but chose not to associate her terror with a place. “I need to-I need to get out of here,” she mumbled, tightening her hold of the woman whom she felt nod in agreeance.   
The older woman led her toward an unseen staircase, helping her up the thirteen stairs for she was not risking peeking at the room she knew would burn permanent in her mind. “Morgan, she can’t go out there right now,” Emily Prentiss spoke, removing her arms from her. She shook feeling the absence of protection, blindly moving toward the voice. “I’m right here, I’m right here.” A hand gently cupped the back of her head, bringing her forward against the tear-soaked skin of the older woman’s neck, and she relished in the needed scent of vanilla shampoo. “Morgan, go get my overnight bag from the trunk.”   
She was unaware if they were alone within the home she was sure they stood, the carpet soft, yet wet, beneath her injured soles, and the sound of a door opening before closing once more alerted her of the dark-skinned agent’s obedience of orders. “Victoria,” the older woman whispered against her temple, continuing gentle ministrations along her back. “I need to let go of you when Morgan comes back, okay? But I will be right here.” The only thing she could do was nod, holding the woman for as long as she could in their shared silence before the sound of his return parted them.   
The older woman audibly shuffled though the requested bag, muttering a jumbling of words to herself, and she felt exposed without someone wrapped around her beaten and abused body. She was braless, her ample breasts sweaty along their underneath crease and she felt a dull pain along their surface, as well as the inner skin of her still bare thighs. A stained blouse and surely damaged underwear, she realized, were the only fabrics covering her tortured, used skin. She squealed as a hand suddenly latched onto her forearm, abruptly bringing her from the thought safety of her own trance. “It’s just me, Victoria. It’s just me,” Emily’s voice echoed over her anguish. “I’m going to help you into a pair of sweatpants, okay?” Again, she simply nodded, lifting one leg after the other before the older woman pulled the cotton pants over her cold legs and thawing rear. Then, as she reached for the woman’s hold, she was ignored, instead the sleeve of a familiar jackets covered her anxious hand. She eased herself into the standard FBI issued jacket, allowing the female agent to fasten the zipper.   
The warmth of the sun was a much delighted relief, though the sidewalk beneath her feet burned relentlessly as she was led out of the creaking doorway. Muffled whispers slowly silenced, though she heard the birds chirping happily and the roar of starting engines. A gust of heated air blew against her covered legs, and she allowed herself to be laid upon what she recognized as a gurney. No one spoke to her, and as the paramedics began rolling toward the heated vehicle, she called out for the older woman, still blinded by an unknown material. “I’ll be right back,” Emily stated with a panting breath, distance evident between them. The overwhelming aroma of her own spilled liquids and drying blood turned her stomach, and she began a gently crying beneath the masks, clenching her fists at the provided sheets. The bed beneath her was lifted into the back of the ambulance, nauseating her further as an exhaustion began arising. “Okay, I’m here! I’m here!” The older woman was clearly out of breath, but she found her own hand held between two which trembled.   
“We need to remove her blindfold,” a paramedic stated, his voice deep though comforting. She nodded before the older woman spoke, lifting her head gently, and an excruciating strike of pain shot from her throbbing temple to the core of her skull. Blindfold tenderly leaving her face, she continued the neglecting of opening her eyes for her lids felt too heavy, a slumber consuming her. “No, no, no,” the older woman panicked, hands holding hers shaking to awake her. “Hey, look at me, Victoria. I need you to look at me.” Her breathing slowed, swirling longer within her lungs behind battered cages of bone. She could not lift the drapes over her eyes, withdrawing from a fight with her own draining exhaustion. The older woman’s pleads became quieter and quieter in ringing ears until there was blackened silence once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being abducted by an unsub, Special Agent Victoria Grey must learn to cope with the haunting memories of her abuse with each slow passing day. However, she is not alone; she has Special Agent Emily Prentiss. She has always had Special Agent Emily Prentiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very emotional story. As always, Victoria Grey is my own character, however the rest belong to the creators/writers of Criminal Minds.

The nuisance of rhythmic beeping and scatter announcements awoke her, the hospital room coming to life around her between flutter lids. Harrowing pain covered her skull like an undesired cap and her abdomen twitched an anguishing carved masterpiece. She groaned, closing her still heavy eyes to hide from the blurry artificial light. The sheets coddling her were warm against exposed arms and shins, protecting her from the dangers she knew far too well, and the numbing pain of her wrists deemed insignificant. She laid there, wondering when she had become so vulnerable as to allow an unknown subject control of her, pondering the exact moment when she surrendered to his strength and his vulgarity. The disgust within her began collecting rapidly, tears trickling from tightly closed eyes for could not pinpoint the precise time when she gave him absolute ownership of her own body, but she was aware she had.   
Booted footfalls against the ceramic flooring entered slowly yet fell quicker, approaching her with eagerness. She flinched, awaiting the abuse to her once more until a familiar touch landed upon her cheek, a thumb wiping away the remnants of tears. “You’re okay,” Emily attempted reassurance. With lingering hesitance, she opened her eyes as the older woman sat in the provided chair, angled to face her bedside. She allowed herself an agonizingly silent moment to glance over the female agent, scanning her quite messy dark hair, falling to just passed her slouched shoulders, and the untucked, white button down stained with her own blood and expel, she was certain. Eyes flickering back to the woman’s dark eyes, she noticed a tiredness ribboning their orbs. “Hi there,” the woman practically whispered, a hint of a smile toying on her pink lips.  
“Prentiss,” she sighed, knotting the sheets between her heavy fists. “Prentiss, what happened?”  
The older woman slowly looked to her, shaking her head and she swore there were threating saltine drops within the woman’s suddenly focused eyes as a hand calmly covered her fist. “Victoria, I don’t think now is a good time to talk about this.” She shook her head violently, angrily at the withholding woman, pleading for the truth. She deserved that much, the simple truth. “We don’t know where he found you, Victoria. All we know is that he took you and…Victoria, please.” She accepted the woman’s discomfort explaining the details she was sure were distressing and truthfully, she did not long for the play-by-play of her own torture. Beginning to stir within the hospital bed, she removed her hand from beneath the older woman’s. “I want to go home,” she stated, bringing her legs over the side of the bed. “I’m going home.”  
“You can’t,” Emily barked, standing quickly from the small chair, hands blocking her further movement. Their eyes met, and she saw the fear in radiating panic behind those brown orbs. The older woman shook her head, again, lowering her stained hands. “He knows,” she muttered.   
A flood broke through her weakly crafted damn, tears immediately streaming down her cheeks, and she sobbed, brushing her knotted hair from her face. “No,” she cried, slamming a bruised fist against the bed. “Well, where the fuck am I supposed to go, Prentiss? I’m not staying here!” Passed the older woman, she spotted their supervisory agent enter the small white room with a stern look decorating his shadowed face. He silently leaned against the threshold of the door, staring at her, sadness in his darkened eyes. “Hotch, I can’t stay here,” she shook her head, furrowing her own brunette brows.   
“I know.” His voice monotone, he ventured toward her, looking to the older woman. “That’s why you will stay with Agent Prentiss until we find who did this to you.” She turned her attention to the woman whose name fell from his mouth, however, found an immense measure of shock contorting her fair face.   
“Okay, sir,” the older woman accepted the command, after many silent moments, to protect her. The burden weighing so heavily upon her shoulders lightened, allowing her lips to lift into a soft smile despite the uneasiness churning her organs. “But if you don’t mind, I need about an hour, Hotch. My house is pretty much a wreck, which is strange considering the fact that I’m never home.” Receiving a nod from their superior, the older woman dashed out of the room with great speed. Feeling the return of vulnerability in the woman’s absence, she shifted back into the sheeted bed, cocooning her body from the waist down for the malicious man was still free while she trapped in a prison of her own mind, though void of memory. “Sir, what happened? I don’t understand how I could have been so careless, so clumsy as to let a man depower me. Why didn’t I shoot him? And why don’t I remember anything?”   
The usually stern, straightforward man took a hesitant seat in the chair, thoughts clearly filling his ever-racing mind for she saw his own fight within him to tell her. “Agent Grey, you’re not the same agent that walked into my office eight months ago. That woman was eager and bright and cheerful. She was such…well, a nuisance, to be frank because that woman did not belong in the BAU. I gave you a rope, nonetheless, and I let you see the truth behind our team. And you did over time. Because of that you’ve become a demanding, hardworking woman who doesn’t need a team. Instead, you would rather enter an unsecure building without a vest and weapon holstered, all while ignoring those around you,” he paused, staring at her with dark, disappointed eyes. “That is your weakness, Grey. You have tricked yourself into thinking that you are invincible and entirely independent, and that is exactly what he used to gain control over you.”   
She remained silent, her thoughts far too loud within her own mind, and she longed for the return of the female agent. The man before her was not incorrect in his gathered information, she agreed, she had become an agent who found comfort in saving others without the help of her team. Many nights she had found herself awake, staring into the memorized abyss of slanted fonts and scribbled notes of a case file, drowning her organs with coffee that blackened by the passing week. That was not who she was, and she was aware of her transformation, but she had to prove her own worth on the prestigious team for she did not attend Yale like Prentiss nor was her IQ as high as the thirty year old doctor’s. However, she could not understand how her own self-destruction played a role in her vicious attack. He could not be blaming her for sexual assault, she thought. A burning anger boiled within her veins, but she allowed suddenly heavy lids to close around tired, strained eyes. “I’m not invincible, sir,” she groaned.   
“Of course you are,” another voice echoed into the room, another nail hammered into her skull. She opened her eyes slowly, quite familiar with the man’s voice. Derek entered the room, his hands resting in the front pockets of his jeans. “You have lived through so much shit that should’ve destroyed you, but instead you thrived. Nothing can break you, girl,” he said, his usual charming smile on display. “Now, though I agree with Hotch about you weakness being your own independence, I will add that what happened to you was not your fault or caused by this weakness. What that man did to you was horrible. As simple as that. But we won’t let you suffer alone, that’s a promise. So you might as well forget about your obsession with independence because as long as you’re a part of this unit, you won’t be doing much of anything alone.”   
“Thank you,” she whispered through quivering lips before another wave of exhaustion began drowning her, suffocating her will to awaken. The blackness of her own eyelids returned like an unfriendly memory.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being abducted by an unsub, Special Agent Victoria Grey must learn to cope with the haunting memories of her abuse with each slow passing day. However, she is not alone; she has Special Agent Emily Prentiss. She has always had Special Agent Emily Prentiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very emotional story. As always, Victoria Grey is my own character, however the rest belong to the creators/writers of Criminal Minds.

_His breath was warm on her face, far too warm for her liking and the nauseating aroma of onions and cheese faltered her senses. She gagged, pushing his odorous, obese being away from her, but he hit her with something, just beside her left temple, disabling her, knocking her to the cold ground. She couldn’t move her arms, she couldn’t prevent his intruding kiss any longer. He removed her weapon, tossing it across the darkened room, whispering dirty fantasies in her ear. She fought, kicking and screaming, as he unbuttoned her slacks, practically ripping them from her waist. Crying, she pleaded for her life, but he hit her again consuming her with utter blackness._  
She screamed from the depths of her panting lungs, jolting from the bed as her oceanic eyes shot open like a steel bullet she so desired she had fired into the monsters chest. The carousel around her, the white room, was spinning quite fast, and continued to cry out, feeling his horrid presence near her, breathing on her neck, touching her breasts. She tried to rid herself of him, clawing at her own fragile skin, telling him to leave her alone, but nothing helped, he was still there, taunting her, slowly walking around her so she could not see him. “Okay! Okay!” a sharp voice entered from the doorway, and without cognitive analysis, she threw the provided remote toward the voice, screaming for anyone to come save her. Then, as her frantic breathing mollified and her nomadic vision focused, she realized the voice’s true origin and her own absence of danger. “Prentiss, I’m so sorry,” she sighed, retreating to the edge of the bed. “I don’t know…I thought he was…he was here, or…” Her jaw trembled as the saddest of seas flooded her oceans in streams, drowning her scattered freckles. “I felt him, Prentiss. I felt him…and I-I-I saw him. I swear he was here,” she cried, her voice much deeper and almost incoherent, pushing through a sealing throat.  
The older woman moved the chair, placing it inches away from her scabbed knees before allowing herself the seat. Dark eyes stared back at her, a hand finding hers as the other wiped more tears from her cheeks. “I believe that you saw him, Vic, but I promise you that he was not here.” The woman ran a gentle thumb back and forth over the scraped skin of her still anxious fingers, and the man’s abominable odor she anticipated would deem permanent became diluted by the strong fragrance of her recent washed hair. She could no longer withhold her own despair sobbing mercilessly before the comforting older woman. “You know I wouldn’t do this to you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, Vic, but I need you to tell me what just happened. What did you see? Any small detail could help us find him.”  
She knew the older woman was right for that was a speech similar to that of their sensitivity training. “Em, I…he…he smelled awful, like a really greasy cheesesteak stub, or something closely related.” The mere remembrance made her queasier, and she intertwined her fingers with the older woman’s in a single movement, latching onto her tightly. “He, uh, he hit me with something. I don’t know what it was! I didn’t see it! If only I would’ve seen it coming or taken out my gun! Em, why didn’t I grab my gun and shoot the bastard?” The reoccurring panic consuming her with exhaustion started, again, but she stared into the woman’s sympathetic eyes, relishing in the feeling of their fingers together. She was there, and he was not, she thought to herself as the older woman explained that there was nothing she could have done. “Tell me what else happened, Vic, please.”  
“I-uh, he…” she raked her mind with utter frustration. “I fell, and that’s when he,” she paused, glancing at her bruised wrists. “How long was I down there, Prentiss?” The question roared from her, a demanding inquiry echoing off of the pure white walls. She watched the older woman’s obvious discomfort impatiently. “About three days,” she responded after the passing of a few minutes. They sat together in silence, and she played with the woman’s soft fingers within hers, swallowing harshly. For three days, she thought, she could not remember anything other than what her dream reminded her, which was not much, that she could admit. She became frustrated with herself, despite the older woman’s reassurance that her fate was sealed the moment he had taken her, but she did not want that to be the truth she was to live with each terrible night of anxiety-brought forth nightmares. “Prentiss,” she cleared her throat, wiping her own tears away. “I really want to take a shower.”  
The older woman stood, as if on command, retrieving a bag she had not seen her bring in. “I went over to your apartment,” she began. “I wasn’t sure what you would want or…I have no idea how you put outfits together in the morning, but I grabbed some shirts and some pants. There might be a dress or skirt in here, too.” Emily shrugged, offering her the bag, and she was aware that the woman was requesting her changing from the hospital gown into real clothes before they left. Opening her recognized black duffle, she rummaged through the unorganized bundle of clothing in quest for something more comfortable than slacks or a skirt. A pair of grey sweatpants called for her attention along with a blue Yale tee shirt. “This isn’t mine,” she said pulling the garment from the mess of fabrics.  
“I know,” Emily snickered, raising an eyebrow. “I let you borrow it when you spent the night after the Halloween party. Actually, I had forgotten about it until about an hour ago when I found it among your thousands of tee shirts.” She smiled at the fond memory, sure the older woman could not see her face, before nodding and sauntering toward the bathroom. For a moment, she paused in the doorway, craving to speak of the night responsible for her hoarding the shirt, but instead, she continued, shutting the wooden door behind her.  
Removing the thin drape from her body, she stared at her own bare reflection, nearly vomiting in the sink before her. Two hand-shaped bruises marked the insides of her freckled thighs, purple and blue lesions painting her cage of bones. The gash above her eye was stitched closed, but swollen and discolored as well as what seemed was a broken nose. She had not felt the pain in the center of her face, surely far too focused on the lacerations elsewhere. Behind her, she noticed a shadow figure against the wall just before it disappeared. She turned around far too quickly, dizzying her beaten, fragile body and falling to the ceramic tile as a scream emitted from her arid throat. “Emily!” she called out, unable to find her balance. The man approached her with staggering composure, seemingly unfazed by her screams. As the door swung open, slamming against the following wall, her horror abandoned her in the bathroom with the older woman. “Emily, he was right there!” she pointed toward the locked window. “He was right there wi-with his…Emily, he-he..he…”  
“Victoria! Victoria! He wasn’t there! Okay? He wasn’t there!” the older woman yelled, squatting beside her, aiding her back into a standing position. “He wasn’t there!” She clutched onto the woman, wrapping her arms around her toned waist. On her tippy toes, her chin rested on the woman’s shoulder. “He wasn’t there, Victoria,” Emily whispered, running gentle hands along her bare back. She trembled in the woman’s desired embrace, fearful teeth chattering annoyingly within her mouth. Her eyes dared focus on any tile on the wall or the dark hair inches from her lashes for he would linger in her blind spot with a crooked smile, she was sure. “Let’s get you dressed.”  
Weakly surrendering to the fight within her, she pulled the cotton shirt over her head, staring into the woman’s concern-suffused eyes. As the sweatpants rounded her bum, she sighed loudly, grabbing the older woman’s hand, and leading her from the washroom. “I want to go, Em.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being abducted by an unsub, Special Agent Victoria Grey must learn to cope with the haunting memories of her abuse with each slow passing day. However, she is not alone; she has Special Agent Emily Prentiss. She has always had Special Agent Emily Prentiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very emotional story. As always, Victoria Grey is my own character, however the rest belong to the creators/writers of Criminal Minds.

Hands pushed into the limit of her pockets, fiddling with complied lint, she hesitantly climbed the seven stairs leading to the older woman’s home, a securing hand against the base of her back. The afternoon’s usual brightness brought by the beautifully orange sun was overpowered by the darkness of an approaching storm, several shades of depressing greys clouding the blue of the skies. A powerful gust of wind sent chills down her spine as she neared the large door. The older woman reached around her, pressing the silver key into its matching knob. Once she heard the awaited click of release, she pushed the door open, nearly running into the house. Emily followed her with quick steps, locking the door purposefully as she watched from the distance of the kitchen.

Taking a well-needed inhale of vanilla scented air, she roamed her oceanic eyes around the quite familiar home. She feigned ignorance to the sudden lack of opened manila folders scattering the marble island and wooden coffee table. “Would you like a drink?” the older woman asked, passing behind her. Without answering, Victoria simply opened the cabinet of liquors, wrapping her fingers around the neck of Tennessee whiskey. “I’ll take that as a yes,” the whisper came behind her ear, the woman’s warm breath tickling at her peach-fine hair. She watched as Emily grabbed two glasses from the neighboring cupboard before filling them with cubes of ice. Carefully, she filled each glass to the rim, threatening a spill onto the newly cleaned counter. Then, taking a swig from the half-empty bottle, she smiled at the older woman. A white grin greeted her, interrupted by the intrusion of her glass’s rim, the dark liquor spilling between her lips.

The liquor was not as harsh as she desired but as she nearly chugged the whiskey from her glass, it blurred her thoughts. “Well, it’s definitely strange to be back,” she chuckled, filling her chalice once more. The older woman nodded, taking a few selective steps toward the living room, her own goblet in hand. Victoria followed her slowly, bypassing her to place her weight on the dark couch. “Remember when we sat here watching twelve hours of horror movies because we didn’t feel like going to the grocery store or the gym?”

Emily nodded, a chuckle falling from her smile as she took the allotted seat in the adjacent chair. “Well, I remember you sleeping about three movies into the marathon, but you woke up to…uh…” the older woman’s smile dissipated, her own discomfort written plainly across her contorting face. Victoria sighed in remembrance, withholding the same recollection as the older woman. “Do you still want to shower, Vic?” Though the woman’s question lingered in the living room, her body had migrated to the kitchen, pouring herself another hefty glass of the whiskey. She understood Emily’s suddenly needed distance, recalling the conversation that changed movie nights into evenings alone and transformed shared dinners into unneeded overtime and cheap carry out.

“Uh, yeah, but,” she paused, finishing off her necessity of liquor. “I’ll be back.” She felt the other woman’s eyes on her as she headed toward the stairs, ignoring the sharp pain returning to her skull. She flicked each light switch she passed, illuminating the darkened upper level of the woman’s home, finding her memorized way to the master bathroom. Stopping in the doorway, she sighed loudly, harsh saltine tears blurring her vision. That bathroom as no longer hers, she thought, but she noticed her purchased bottle of wash and face scrub still residing on the right corner of the tub. She quickly grabbed them before finding her way toward the guest washroom connected to her assumed bedroom for the time being.

The warm water, hotter than she would normally request, seemed ineffective in ridding her of the monster’s filth for his fingers continued digging into her soft skin, bruising its fragile surface and his odorous breath remained permanent on her collar. She scrubbed harder and harder, tears trickling down her cheeks passed freckles and purplish skin, but she could not wash him away, he would not drown in the water nor slip down the silver drain. No matter how much of her cocoa butter soap she coated her torso or how much shampoo she drenched her hair, no matter how vigorously she scrubbed her face, that demon would not vanish.

She stepped from the constraints of the shower, wrapping her drenched, raw body in the soft purple towel. As she looked in the rectangular mirror above the counter, she saw the darkness circling her eyes, and he was standing behind her, smirking, his fat arms crossed over his wide, blubbery chest. “Emily,” she whimpered, pivoting to face him, but the lavender wall was void; she was alone. He wasn’t there, the older woman’s voice appeared in her mind. He wasn’t there. Taking an allotted deep breath, she bent her fingers around the black knob, opening the door with a single swift motion.

The bedroom was revealed before her, and she was relieved to find the bed untouched as well as the absence of her monster. She pulled her boxer shorts on as quickly as she could manage, avoiding each bruise and laceration painting her legs with various reds and purples, blues and blacks. After pulling a black tee shirt over her head, chuckling at the bar titled across it, she combed each unfortunate knot from her dark waves. A quiet hum outside of the locked door captured her attention though she did not recognize the gentle tune. She silently padded toward the door, a smile creeping upon her lips. For a moment she simply listened to the murmur of notes before opening the door, faltering the older woman’s balance against its surface. “Emily?” she raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to be here,” the older woman shrugged, her eyes flickering over each exposed bruise before finding her eyes once more. “In case you needed me.”

Victoria looked up at the woman, her head tilting much like a dog would in curiosity, wondering how long she had truly been standing outside of the bedroom. “Thank you, Emily,” she whispered, her voice lingering in the mere inches between them. “Thank you for saving me…and thank you for being here, even after…you know.” Her gaze lowered as she spoke, resting on the folded band of the older woman’s black sweatpants.

A finger beneath her chin gently lifted her head, returning her gaze to brown eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, Victoria. You’re still my closest friend, despite what has happened between us. I will always be here for you, and I would save you a million times over again.” She became lost in the Emily’s dampening eyes, seeing the pain she had caused her, the pain she failed so miserably to hide. “You should rest, Vic.” The woman dropped her hand, burying it in the pocket of her pants. She simply nodded, the exhaustion tapping behind her straining eyes. However, she did not want to allow herself the absence of the older woman. Emily began walking away, pausing for a moment with her free hand on the thin railing. She will turn around, she thought, but the older woman continued down the hardwood staircase.

“Goodnight, Emily,” she muttered to herself, closing the door quietly. She dragged her body toward the bed, pulling back its heavy white comforter before climbing within. The light would remain on throughout the night, she decided, but it deemed pointless for the blackness returned when she closed her eyes, the concentrated slumber obliterating any will to stay awake further into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being abducted by an unsub, Special Agent Victoria Grey must learn to cope with the haunting memories of her abuse with each slow passing day. However, she is not alone; she has Special Agent Emily Prentiss. She has always had Special Agent Emily Prentiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very emotional story. As always, Victoria Grey is my own character, however the rest belong to the creators/writers of Criminal Minds.

_She was awake now, screaming and crying and pleading for her life, for her quite minimal sanity, but he would not listen. Shut up, he repeated, over and over, louder and louder, echoing off of their hidden surrounding as if trapped between the rocks of a cave. He was inside of her, thrusting further and further, grunting loudly in her ringing ears. She attempted to kick him, rid her body of him, but he was far too heavy for her legs to lift. Drowning, she thought, she was drowning, suffocating on her own incessant tears for she could not breathe, she could not capture and withhold a breath into her lifeless lungs. The caged animal within her chest, however, was awake, thrashing against its restraining bones. Fingers around her ribs squeezed harder, and she wondered if he could hear her angered, yet frightened heart, if he was attempting to silence it for he could not silence her screams and her cries and pleads. He could not silence them until he did, covering her mouth with a greasy hand. She frantically turned her head from side to side, gagging over and over at the offensive odor of his skin. You were always my favorite, he whispered, brushing her hair that draped in front of her eyes, and he was gentle until he clenched her hair, pulling it harshly before smashing her head into something, voiding her of the consciousness he had allowed her. ___

Her eyes opened widely, releasing the dam walls suppressing her floods and taking in the much welcomed light in the lonely room around her. She panted, attempting without success to capture her stolen breath, the monster now a thief as the cocoon around her became confining. The dream of horrific memory replayed in her mind like a broken movie, rewinding and fast-forwarding repeatedly with seldom diversion. She could not remain so still in the strange bed, awaiting his uncounted attack on her body as streams rippled down her face, across the bridge of her nose to their comfortable demise against the soaked pillow. She hastily pushed herself from the mattress, finding her bare feet against the cold hardwood below. Running toward the door, she heard him behind her, mocking her with the repetition of her own name. “He’s not there,” she whispered to herself, feeling his greasy hand reaching for her. “He’s not there.” She forcibly opened the door, escaping toward the stairs just before he could overtake her again.

The stairs disappeared beneath her feet as she scampered in her descending, the light of the television illuminating her pathway. “What happened?” the older woman inquired, nearly jumping from her place on the couch. She urgently shook her head, stating that he was not there, over and over to the woman before her. Her entire body trembling, tee shirt soaked in saltine waters, and a nausea grew rapidly within her stomach. “Come here, Vic, come here,” Emily whispered, taking hold of her shuddering hand, calming the earthquake. The couch was suddenly beneath her, providing her a refuge of which to repose. She curled into the older woman, clasping the loose fabric of her shirt in fear of her absence. “You’re okay,” the woman mumbled over the jumble of voices from the television, placing a kiss to the crown of her head.

Closing the minuet spacing between them, she found herself entangled with the older woman. “Em, when will these nightmares go away?” she whimpered, the quivering of her lips fading as soft fingers raked through her hair.

However, the other woman neglected an answer to her question, instead placing another kiss to her head. “Do you remember that night we ordered Chinese food at one in the morning and stayed up watching reruns of I Love Lucy?” Emily asked, her voice millimeters from her temple. She remembered the night more so than she did her childhood for it was the night she had moved in with the other woman. They had spent most of the morning into the evening lugging boxes into the house and organizing closets and drawers, she reminisced, a smile toying at her lips. “Or the night we agreed on a date at that really fancy steakhouse but ended up in a café eating day old donuts and drinking cold coffee?” Lifting her head from the crook of the woman’s neck, she glanced at her slanted lips, flickering her eyes toward memorized dark orbs. “I can’t tell you when the nightmares will stop, Victoria,” the older woman sighed, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, and she flinched, intimidated by the familiar gesture. “What-what happened?

Her grip on the older woman’s shirt tightened. “He was gentle,” she muttered and gestured to her hair. “Then, he…” allowing her voice to dissipate into the minimal space between them, she rested her forehead against the woman’s clenched jaw. A tender hand continued ministrations through her thick hair, bypassing developed knots and ignoring the lingering dampness. She did not continue her aloud explanation, her thought, instead she simply molded her body into the older woman’s, refusing to let loose her hold.

The silence was not one consumed with presentiment, but with contentment, the hush of The Golden Girls quartet a distance from their intertwined bodies. She felt the composed, soothing breathing of the other woman against her own body, and nestled once more in the space between her jawline and shoulder, placing a gentle kiss to the pulse point, throbbing through fragile skin. The fingers within her hair ceased though only for a moment before continuing over tangles. Indulging in the quite familiar body beside hers, face warming quickly from trapped breathes and sweating skin, the earthquake of her body subsiding for the moment, she sighed in content upon her own accord. “Emily, I don’t want to sleep alone tonight,” she whispered, her own tiresome voice failing within her throat. As she closed her burdensome eyelids, the weight of their bodies began shifting, abandoning their upright positions to find complacency. She laid upon the older woman, their breasts pressed together as lungs breathed against lungs, expanding similar rib cages, though one bruised and broken. The blanket she had not noticed resting behind them was suddenly covering her, covering them, the woman beneath her moving slowly to ensure absolute warmth and desired comfort in their cotton cocoon.

Two hands flattened against the battered skin of her back beneath the fabric of her tee shirt, and their minuet chill relieved the taunting pain. She tucked one of hands between the older woman’s arm and side, latching it once more onto her waist, warranted the touch of smooth skin creating the toned curve. Her hand ran the length of the woman’s waist, missing the soft surface against her callous hand as the older woman placed a chaste kiss to her nose. “Get some sleep, Vic. I’ll be right here.” The aroma of whiskey lingered among them, and she focused her now-open eyes on the four elderly women, on the large screen, seated around a circular kitchen table, rambling about their memories together. Her mind wandered to the nights spent around a familiar table, the woman currently beneath her seated beside her, their hands interlocked. She reminisced upon evenings wasted attending art galleries and mornings of burnt pancakes and cold coffee, thinking of the times life appeared so much simpler to her, when she did not bare the fear of nightmares. Instead, in that life, she basked in the glory that was the older woman, arching her back so carelessly under morning-warmed sheets and finding her addictive lips around careful corners. In that life, that mere memory, she needed the woman to place air into her lungs each morning and drag her from the solitude of their bed. She needed her in order to find the purpose within her job, to establish reasoning for eating the meal so desired to skip, and to smile more so than not. Her reliance was her weakness in that life, destroying the woman she had been before, and demolished their carefully constructed love.

“Em,” she broke the now haunting silence, sealing her oceans tightly to prevent the invasive saltine drops. “Do you ever miss me?”

The older woman did not stir with discomfort or shift with a sudden tension as she anticipated; she was perfectly still, her breathing remaining level beneath her and the fingers running pleasantly along the marred skin of her back continued without falter. “Every single day,” Emily responded quietly, practically whispering her confession. “Every single day.”

The seal of her eyes broken, tears slid passed the failed confinement, surely falling to greet the skin of the other woman. She clenched her own jaw, hoping to restrict the quivering of her muscles. Emily began shushing her, a hand leaving the underneath of her shirt only to run along the strands of her hair, smoothing the dismay of knots. The gesture ruptured the faucet behind her eyes, bringing forth the sudden flood of emotion, however, the confluence of exhaustion possessed her limbs like an unwelcomed paralysis. “I’m so sorry, Em,” she cried with a trembling voice. “I should’ve stayed…” As the blackness of slumber returned, reuniting her with her own demons and the monster residing behind her eyes, her voice faded.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being abducted by an unsub, Special Agent Victoria Grey must learn to cope with the haunting memories of her abuse with each slow passing day. However, she is not alone; she has Special Agent Emily Prentiss. She has always had Special Agent Emily Prentiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very emotional story. As always, Victoria Grey is my own character, however the rest belong to the creators/writers of Criminal Minds.

_The deafening screams echoed around her, but she recognized the outcry of her own name. It was not coming from her mouth for she was silent, listening intently into the darkness. He was not there, he was not touching her. He was gone entirely, she thought, and someone called out her name: Emily. She still could not move, her hands fastened above her head, cutting into the skin as she thrusted her legs out, twisting her body from side to side in attempt to free herself, to save the woman crying out for her. “Emily!” she yelled. “Emily, where are you? I can’t see you! Emily!” Then, she heard his heavy footed return. No, it wasn’t his return, it wasn’t his booted feet she became aware of. He was grunting with dominate aggression, the repeated thudding the sound of his body violating her, destroying her innocence. “Emily!” she called for her again. “Emily!”_

Suddenly cognitive of the hands on her arms, shaking her lightly, and the whisper of her name inches from her face, the origin’s breath warming her frigid cheeks. She opened her eyes quickly, scanning the older woman’s unharmed face, making positive she was untouched by the monster. Her hands released the sheet they clenched in hardened fists, cupping the woman’s face and bringing her into an essential, sloppy kiss. As fingers slid into the other woman’s dark, knotted hair, she removed her other hand, latching it onto Emily’s shirt, pulling her closer though she hovered above her. She kissed her deeper, needing the passionate embrace so long sought for, quite missed. The older woman’s chapped, morning lips reminded her of a simpler life of tangled limbs and sun-light giggles. Her tears flavored their kiss with saltine drops, but she would not risk losing this contact, this burning need by unlocking their lips. She would not let this woman go; he would not hurt her anymore, any longer.

“I’m so sorry, Em,” she muttered weakly into softening lips, basking in the weight above her, feigning ignorance to the overwhelming pain striking her fragile body. The older woman shook her head, releasing tears of her own, which fell from her lids, landing on her stained, freckled cheeks. “I…he,” she panted, lips still brushing against the other woman’s, but she could not speak for she was muted but another embrace of wasted time. She was aware of the woman’s quivering muscles against her lips, and she cried harder wishing she could rid her of the pain, desiring a way to go back in time, to stay in that home with her. She would’ve been safe, she thought, with the older woman. Alone, she allowed herself to lose control to a malicious demon who preyed on her, abducting her screams and cries for his own amusement and pleasure. “I need you.” The words remained between them for a moment, oceanic eyes searching dark ones, inches away.

Shadows of swinging curtains danced around the bedroom, illuminated by the bright morning star shining invasively through the glass windows. Though she did not recall traveling with the woman to her bedroom, she had, the familiar comfort of the mattress clothed in white sheets beneath her, supporting her unsound being. From the limited space she could see through her peripheral sight everything appeared the same as she had left it; a photograph of her smiling widely with the older woman still rested upon the large black dresser and the vanity of which her makeup had resided, scattered from one end to the opposing stood lonely, empty, drawers remaining open. 

On the nightstand beside her, her nightstand a life before, the photograph she had left behind, one she remembered taking with nostalgic intimacy. The woman had only just awoken from their much needed sleep, her hair a tangled mess, the bareness of her beautiful chest exposed as she stretched the tiredness away. She snapped the photo before the woman noticed her, tossing her camera back to its place in the wooden drawer of the side table. When she had shown Emily the picture, the woman humored her with disbelief, mouth agape and hands fluttering every which way, though she promised no one would see the photo. And she withheld that promise, no one saw the picture, including her over the strenuous four months.

The older woman cleared her throat bringing her from the subtle trance she had fumbled into. “I’m right here,” she smiled, her rosy cheeks glossy from the stain of tears, and she sniffled, running a finger threw her own hair to clear the draping mess from her face. “I’ve always been right here, Vic.”

“I know,” she admitted, brushing her scratched, callous fingers through the other woman’s hair. A tingle of discomfit tickled at her fingertips, but she ignored the pain, staring into those damn brown eyes. “You have always been right here. Always. Whenever I needed you, you were there to answer the phone or you dropped everything you were doing to help me do whatever I was struggling with, like painting the cabinets. Remember that? I thought you were going to kill me,” she chuckled, glancing at the woman’s growing smile. “There was paint all over the countertops, but no one told me to remove them first.” 

The sound of the older woman’s laughter as she nodded in remembrance was quite a content change from the fear of her nightmares and the worry of being alone. “Actually, I think a better example would be the time you rushed home from the grocery store because I told you I was cooking pancakes for dinner,” Victoria added, feigning ignorance to their intertwining fingers against the bed. “You didn’t have a lot of faith in me that night.” Jokingly raising her eyebrow, she allowed a chuckle of her own to pass between her curled lips, adding to the radiating happiness filling the silence of the bedroom.

The older woman shook her head, staring at their hands resting just below her lifted chin. “Well, you did make pancakes a few times before that and I think the fire department was tired of the false alarms,” Emily giggled, her eyes flashing upward to meet hers, though she watched her so intently. “I always think of the time, at work, when Spencer stole your stapler because he couldn’t find his so you called me while I was driving there and requested I buy you a new one, even though there plenty around the office. And I did, of course.”

“Then, there was that night I had the worst fucking cramps of my life and you stopped reading a case file to run to the pharmacy,” she tilted her resting head, nuzzling into the entangled fingers, placing a kiss to a single knuckle of the older woman’s hand. “You came back with tampons, three seasons of The Nanny, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and that enormous jar of pickles.” She looked into the woman’s eyes with furrowed brows, a smirk toying at her lips. “Do you still have those pickles? I think we only ate seven or eight of them that night.”

“Yes,” Emily nodded, laughter pouring from her seams. “It’s on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator door. I can’t believe we stayed up watching that fucking show, drunk out of our minds. Remember how we impersonated her laugh for a solid hour? God, we were so annoying,” she joked, rolling her dark eyes. Viictoria could no longer speak, finding a new happiness within the woman’s eyes, a laughter and peace of mind she had missed. This freedom of speech among them and the lazy chuckles feeding their senses, all a matter of contentment lost many of weeks previous. She leaned forward, lifting her head from the coddling mattress to place a chaste kiss on the woman’s parted lips, allowing the skin to linger as she retreated slowly, her oceans remaining blind to the world surrounding for the only universe that mattered was Emily. “I love you,” she muttered, eyes fluttering open to behold the goddess above her, biting her bottom lip.

“I love you, too,” the older woman whispered. Their lips met once more, though a wave of desire washed over their touching bodies, deepening the kiss of swollen lips and tender pants. Closing her eyes, she invited the blackness, requesting its while stay for she did not long for she did not see the monster when in the woman’s arms. Emily banished him as their tongues met, gently brushing passed once another, recognizing each other in slow motion between each kiss of parted lips.


End file.
